Vampire: The Masquerade - Begin Again
by SusieSamurai
Summary: Billie did not anticipate talking to a cute guy in a coffee shop would result in this. If she had, she probably would've got her drink to go. Now she's got to deal with a guy who obviously feels the need to over-compensate for his lack of height, quickly getting over an aversion to gratuitous violence, judgemental stereotypes...not to mention a sudden damnable thirst for blood.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Despite the late hour of the evening, the small coffee shop in downtown Los Angeles was far from deserted.

Through the large windows spilling golden light invitingly across the crack pavement several patrons could be observed: a college study-group using the comforts of the shop along with large quantities of caffeine to assist with cramming for an upcoming exam, token hipsters uploading photos of their beverages to instagram with their smartphones, and her.

A willowy blond who had managed to claim an entire window booth all to herself.

Bangs framed her blue eyes, the rest of her pale hair gather back into a ponytail drawing attention to her delicate bone-structure and the smooth curve of her neck. Red lipstick stained the white rim of her expresso cup as she peered intently down at the small leather-bound book she was scribbling in.

Eyes widening in surprise, she looked up to find that someone had slid into the bench of the opposite side of her booth.

He was almost ridiculously good-looking. With artfully dishevelled hair, the perfect amount of stubble dusting his angular jaw and pale green eyes above high cheekbones. He was well dressed in a light button-up, what was undoubtably a cashmere sweater that was the perfect shade of green to compliment his eyes, and a pair of jeans that were just the right amount of distressed.

"Can I take your photograph?"

Her eyebrows rose at his innocent enough query, caught off-guard she blurted out, "Why?"

"Because you are beautiful." Was his simple reply, delivered with a crooked grin.

She was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of sadness.

A year ago she would've believed him. Before the accident. Before her world, her dreams, crumbled around her leaving her scarred and broken.

"No, I'm not," Was her quiet response, her voice slightly defensive, before she managed to produce a small smile and control of her tone. "But it's sweet of you to say so."

She couldn't blame him for his words, they were intended as kind, flattering – more than likely as a way to get in her pants. Not to remind her of the scars that covered the left side of her body, painstakingly covered up. Hidden. Ignored.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to upset you."

Forcing her smile to widen, she made her voice light and playful, "So, are you gonna take my photo or not?"

His crooked grin back in place, he motioned for her to turn her head. Raising the expensive Nikon camera her snapped a photo of her looking out the window, the quirking of her lips not quite enough to hide the sorrow she tried to cover up in her eyes.

"So, is there a name to go with that face?" His voice was also light, playful. Though unlike hers, she suspected it wasn't forced.

"I bet you use that line on _all_ the girls," Was her response, white teeth flashing into a cheeky grin that was slowly becoming more natural and less of a struggle.

"Only on Mondays."

"It's Wednesday," She pointed out.

"Ah," He winked. "On Wednesdays I only use it on hard to impress blonds with charming personalities."

Unable to stop herself, she giggled.

"I'm Billie. You got a name there, Slick?"

At the nickname, he threw back his head and laughed. Sobering, he looked her in the eye before extending his hand across the table. "Theo Reynolds. Though, I may just let you continue calling me Slick," He winked again. "Just you though, mind."

That was her cue to laugh.

This encounter preceeded several more over the next few weeks. Both met up at the coffee shop and neither left until well after midnight.

At the beginning they both left with a small wave from her and a mock-salute from him. It quickly progressed to lingering stares until one night her tugged her around the corner of the coffee shop. Partially hidden from the glow of the street lamps he backed her up against the cool bricks of the building. Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Pulling back and staring intensely into her eyes, she dazedly commented on how her lipstick had smudged bright red against his pale skin. Chuckling his hand curved around the back of her neck and he murmured, "I frankly don't give a damn," before capturing her lips once more.

This became their new farewell, kisses stolen in the shadows and exploring hands growing in boldness. That is, until the night he suggested they didn't part ways when they exited the coffee shop.

And she agreed.

Faster than she expected he had her pushed up against his apartment door. She didn't have time to dwell on it though, as his lips were on her neck and his hand had slipped beneath the light chiffon of her blouse to curve around her waist. Her hands were fisted in his hair, fingers unconsciously clenching as his mouth moved lower and his tongue traced the swell of her breast peeking above the collar of her blouse.

Her soft moan covered the click of the lock and she stumbled as the door swung open, his arm tightening around her waist the only thing stopping her from falling backwards. He backed her into the dark room, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot. She gasped as his hands traveled over her backside, gripping the backs of her thighs to drag her up his body. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she tried to support herself as securely as her left leg allowed – already she was having to push from her mind the dull pain emanating from her knee and hip.

Then he licked a trail from breast to ear and her mind went deliciously blank to everything except his teeth grazing against her skin before recapturing her lips.

Vaguely aware of them moving through the apartment, she still let out a small sound of surprise as he dropped her onto a plush bed. She bounced once, twice, before the weight of him pushed her firmly down.

All too soon there was nothing but skin and a fine layer of perspiration separating the two of them. She mewled as his mouth traveled the length of her inner thigh, his stubble tickling her overly sensitive skin, before stopping just before where she needed him most.

"I want to show you something."

She shivered, partly from the husky tone of his voice, partly from the cool touch of his breath raising goosepimples across her flesh.

His lips pressed lightly against her skin, before he replaced them with his teeth.

She barely had a chance to react to the sharp pain of his teeth piercing her flesh before she was overwhelmed by the ecstasy effusing every inch of her being.

Losing herself to the glorious throbbing pleasure, she didn't realise the slowing of her pulse, the lethargy dragging at her limbs, and the rapid cooling of her once burning skin until it was too late.

With the last beat of her heart, a wet tongue entered her mouth, pushing a thick salty liquid down her throat. Several more times she suffered through this until finally whoever it was curled up beside her, one arm around her waist, and she succumbed to blessed nothingness.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

When Billie finally awoke, it wasn't in Theo's bed, with said person wrapped around her.

Matter of fact, she wasn't entirely convinced she wasn't still asleep. The main reason was she was kneeling on a stage, stark naked.

In her nightmares, eighty percent of the time she was naked.

The stage provided more evidence towards her theory of still residing in the land of Nod, as a more common theme was her struggling to perform a piece of ballet that grew in difficulty until she failed spectacularly wearing not a stitch on her as a crowd of critics judged her mercilessly.

Stretching her neck in curiousity, the rough grip reaching around her throat from behind – nails digging painfully into the soft skin – pushing her head back down helped to lift some of the fog in her mind. That and the dozen or so pale faces leering dispassionately at her from the shadows.

Billie wasn't in the midst of a nightmare, she was awake. With this realisation came several more.

Recognising where she was, confusion made her frown as she wondered why she was centre stage in the run-down Nocturne Theatre. The peeling wooden beams of the stage left smudges of dust and flecks of varnish sticking to the pale skin of her knees. The faces belonged to a variety of people occupying the red velvet seats in desperate need of repair, the reason for them sitting in darkness being that the only illumination was the stage-lights. Shuffling in an attempt to draw her knees closer together, she tried to pull her hands around to to rest her hands concealingly in her lap only to find that they were bound behind her back at the wrists.

Coming finally to the most important realisation:

Billie was maddeningly thirsty.

Throat burning and stomach spasming in pain, she was distracted by a softly accented voice.

"Forgive me. Let the penalty commence."

Tilting her head slightly, she saw Theo mirroring her to the left. His lips were pulled back in a snarl that revealed glistening fangs that curved to delicate translucent points. Arms slick with blood from the forearms down, the obvious cause being him trying to break free from his bonds as his muscles tensed once more with the effort. Blood slid off the tips of his fingertips to splatter agains the stage. Billies nose twitched at the heavy coppery tang as her stomach clenched in her most painful spasm yet.

The cause of Theo's behaviour was a pale, perfectly manicured man wearing a black tailored suit that would have caused Barney Stinson to weep. His face was smooth and unlined but with a coldness that implied he was far older that his features led her to believe. Said features were carefully arranged into an expression of pity and regret, but the indifference colouring his pale eyes gave his true emotions away.

Billie had seen that look on many faces – including her own – when someone had to execute a performance for which they held absolutely no emotion or passion for in the least. When they were going through the motions expected of them.

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn't notice the giant of a man wearing a floor-length leather duster swing a sword, that was roughly the same size as herself, with all the ease of waving a flag down in a scything motion to slice through Theo's neck like butter.

Eyes widening as warm blood spattered against her cheek, dripping down her jaw like macabre tears, she watched in disbelief as Theo's head bounced once against the stage before both that and his body were consumed by fire from the inside out leaving nothing more than a dusting of ash.

Breath catching in her throat, Billie began to tremble as the blonde man approached her, his nose crinkling almost imperceptively as Theo's remains smudged the perfect shine of his black wingtips.

"...Which leaves the matter of the ill begotten progeny," He gestured towards Billie. "Without a Sire, most Childer are doomed to wander the earth never knowing their place, their responsibility, and most importantly, the laws they must obey."

A pause.

Gazes met and Billie had absolutely no doubt in her mind that this man intended to execute her in the exact same way as he had Theo.

"Therefore, I have decided that –"

Just as Billie parted her lips to at least attempt to delay the inevitable, somebody else beat her to it.

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!"

Eyes instantly focusing on the speaker, her distressed mind likened him to a Hispanic Chris Evans. He was being held back on both sides as he snarled much like Theo had at the blond man who seemed to be running the show. His large hands were clenched tight into fists and the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged from how tense he was, as though he was going to rush the stage any second.

Taking a moment, the blond man cooly delivered in a tone tinted with annoyance, "If Mister Rodriguez would let me finish." Pointed stare in brunette Captain America's direction. "I have decided to let this Kindred live."

The heat in her throat and the clenching of her stomach finally overcoming her, the last thing Billie saw before everything disappeared into a red haze was the calculating look in the blond mans eyes as he glanced back at her before turning back to his audience.

When Billie awoke the second time it was to the taste of something salty yet sweet with the tang of iron lingering on her tongue.

Looking around her she found herself in sprawled on the faded red threadbare carpet of one of the theatres disused dressing rooms. Still naked, she sat up to find that someone had carelessly thrown her clothes from when she had gone home with Theo on the floor at her feet.

Snatching them up she quickly pulled them on, feeling much better once her skin was covered by her red skinny jeans, and cream chiffon blouse and camisole. Slipping her black ballet flats onto her feet she caught sight of herself in the mirror, eyes narrowing when her reflection appear to be blurred around the edges like smudged charcoal. Drawing closer she desperately tried to smooth down the tangled mess that her hair had become, frantically finger-combing her fringe, while trying to decide how to deal with the smudged eyeliner and how her red lipstick was smeared against her paler than normal skin.

Interrupted before she managed to work herself up into a fit that wasn't really about her appearance but more about the trauma she was working through, she turned to look at burly man wearing a black suit and sunglasses standing in the doorway.

"Prince La Croix requests your presence now that you are decent." He informed her, standing aside in a blatant gesture intended to hurry her up.

Nervous, she began to twist her trembling fingers in front of her as she crossed the room and inched past the Man in Black into the hallway.

As Billie entered, the blond man – La Croix, she reminded herself – looked up from his phone and placed it back in his jacket pocket as he regarded her impassively.

"Your Sire – tragic – my apologies," His tone was as brisk as his walk as he started off down the hall, Billie following behind him after a beat. "You must understand, Miss...?"

"Tyler. Uh, Billie Tyler."

"Tyler," He finished with a nod. "Well, Miss Tyler, please understand that there is a strict code of conduct that we must..." He paused a moment, whether this was for dramatic effect or if he was just thinking through what he was about to say, Billie was unsure. "...must _adhere_ to, if we wish to survive."

Frowning, Billie couldn't help but wonder if Theo had been part of a cult or something. Only because it was much preferable to the other theory clamouring for attention in her mind. The same one bluntly pointing out that the comforting thrum of her pulse was gone.

"When someone, _anyone_, breaks these laws they undermine the well-worn fabric of our centuries old society. Understand my _predicament_, Miss Tyler. Allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your subsequent behaviour."

Just as she opened her mouth to ask just what he meant by 'responsible for her behaviour' and why they couldn't just shake hands and part as unlikely friends, he abruptly spun to face her just before the double-doors of the fire exit.

"This is your trial. You will be escorted to Santa Monica where you will meet up by an agent by the name of Mercurio who will disclose the details of your labour. Prove to me this was not a wasted gesture, Fledgling." He informed her, voice ringing with the authority of one used to people doing what he said. "Don't come back, until you do."

With those parting words, he strode back the way they had come, leaving Billie even more confused in a body she wasn't one-hundred percent sure was hers anymore.

Pushing through one of the double doors, she was greeted by a cloud of smoke and husky laughter.

"What a scene, man!"

Leaning up against the brick wall was a man that Billie could only describe as Captain Jack Sparrow after he joined a motorcycle gang. His long hair and beard were wiry and tangled shot through with the barest amount of silver threads. His swarthy skin held a slight ashy tone, as though the colour was slowly fading from it, and was pulled tight across the corded muscles of his arms and torso that Billie was given a more than ample view of thanks to the open leather vest he wore. Slate grey eyes regarded her with mirth mixed with pity.

Frowning, Billie stood there awkwardly, unsure of whether he was the one taking her to Santa Monica - doubtful considering he wasn't dressed like he was in the Secret Service - or if he wanted to talk to her, or maybe he was just plain crazy.

Sobering, he shook his head almost condescendingly as he flicked his cigar across the alley.

"Then they just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods. How bout that? Figuratively, of course, since it looks like they managed to get you some clothes," Billie detected an almost disappointed tone in those words and quickly folded her arms over her breast self-consciously. "Classic! Say, look Princess, this is probably a lot for you to take in so how's about you and I have a little chat?"

"Excuse me?" Billie asked tentatively, not entirely sure what he was talking about.

"Oh Princess, you have no fuckin' clue what I'm talking about - do you?"

Shaking her head seemed to set off another bout of laughter that ending up with him clutching at his stomach. "Damn, how long did you know Theo for? Did he tell you nothin'?"

While he was catching his breath, Billie decided to take advantage and answer his question with one of her own. "Who are you?"

"Names Jack," He told her with a wink. "And what's more important is I'm offering you help. Listen up, Princess, let me lay out the basics before you get hauled off to wherever the Hell La Croix's dumpin' you."

"Basics for what?" Billie's tone was wary.

"Survival. You thought being human was hard, now you're one of the damned and the fallen. And bein' Kindred there's a lot worse you need to worry about than whether you're gonna make this months rent."

"Kindred?"

"That's kinda, uh, our word for _vampire_," He explained. "Never was a big fan of the 'V' word, especially not anymore thanks to the shit Hollywood's churnin' out now. I mean, do I look like I fuckin' sparkle?"

Jack grinned as Billie failed to suppress a snort. "See, Princess, I knew you were alright. How's about we take a walk and I fill you in on what I can before you disappear?"

Billie allowed him to sling an arm around her shoulders and lead her down the alley way, stamping down the hysteria that had risen at the word 'vampire' and trying to pay attention to what Jack was telling her.

Running through everything on how to feed, exactly who La Croix the Masquerade was, what Clan she belonged to thanks to Theo - Toreador -, the necessity of keeping her newfound status as one of the undead to herself, not to mention scaring her half to death - again - with his cautionary words about the Beast, they soon reached the cab La Croix had organised to take her to Santa Monica.

Once she was situated in the backseat Jack popped his head in the window, leaning on the window sill.

"If you make it back, stop in at The Last Round - it's this bar downtown here - I'll fill you in on the politics. Now that's the stuff that'll kill ya!"


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: Hey guys, just 2 things - 1. This story-lines gonna deviate a bit from a word-for-word playthrough of the game (hence no Sabbat raid) 2. The time setting is going to be 2014 as opposed to 2004, this is mostly so I can use technology produced in the last 10 years as well as references to more recent Pop-Culture. **

**A****lso, I forgot to put a disclaimer in the previous two posts, so here goes: I own nothing but my own character 'Billie', everything else is property of Activision, White Wolf, Troika Games, etc. etc.**

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

Halfway to Santa Monica it began to rain. Billie mused that it seemed a pretty apt omen for how her nights were sure to progress from here on out.

As soon as she exited the vehicle the cabbie was gone in a squeal of rubber that splashed oily water up her legs that she gazed down at in stunned acceptance before taking shelter in the front stoop of a pawn shop.

Wiggling her fingers into her front pocket she retrieved an apartment key from her too-tight wet denim. Glancing down at the numbers '508' stamped on the plastic keyring, she took a moment before venturing back out into the downpour.

Logically, she was aware that the rain shouldn't bother her as much as it once did. For all intents and purposes her body was now clinically dead – something as trivial as cold water shouldn't rank as high as a lack of pulse in the grand scheme of things. Unfortunately, Billie had always been the type of person who fixated on the small, annoying things in life.

A trait that had followed her into Unlife, apparently.

And right then she was irritated by the fact that her hair hung about her face in clumps and stuck to her forehead and that the beads of water sliding down the back of her neck tickled her skin as they descended between her shoulder-blades. Not to mention the way her jeans pulled uncomfortably tight across her skin whenever she moved – there was nothing pleasant about wet denim. Nothing.

Taking an unnecessary breath, she darted out of the relative safety of the front stoop and back onto the cracked sidewalk. Careful of her steps she veered around the dumpster and started down the short alley on the side of the building – the filth covering her shoes was enough of a deterrent to make sure she paid attention to where she was placing her feet so it didn't end up over the rest of her too.

Fumbling with the door handle at the end of the alley, she finally succeeded in swinging it open and stepping inside, a puddle forming on the worn floorboards beneath her feet. Moving up the stairs and down the hallway she found her door to be the last one on the right. The wood was cracked and the finish was flaking off in places, one side of the number plaque had come unscrewed so it dangled sideways. Billie slid the key into the lock, jiggling it a bit as it became apparent that someone unskilled with lockpicking had tried to jimmy the lock at some point and failed, holding out no hope for how the interior of the apartment was going to look.

Flicking the lightswitch just inside the doorway Billie's shoulders slumped. Not only did it meet her very low expectations – it was worse.

It appeared to be decorated solely from IKEA's 'this furniture was pulled out of a dumpster' range. She didn't even want to speculate on the origin of the stain taking up sixty percent on the stripped mattress – she made a mental note to flip it and prayed the other side wouldn't be worse. There was a slight chill in the air, the cause of which became apparent as the drab olive fridge made a particularly laborious hum and Billie noticed the door was ajar.

Moving into the small kitchenette old fast food wrappers rustled underfoot and Billie kicked them aside in disgust to reveal cracked grey floor-tiles to match the ones going halfway up the walls. Closing the fridge she discovered that it's only contents were several blood-packs that she suspected had been thrown in as an after-thought by the way they were scattered amongst the shelves – one of which had fallen down on one side.

Dirty dishes were in the sink and littered across the peeling benchtop along with a boombox that had definitely seen better days. The small tv was just as shabby, bunny-ear antennae fashioned from a wire coat-hanger perched on top.

All of this made the two items placed on the desk in the corner stand out even more than they already did. Billie inspected the two top of the line pieces of technology that had been left for her – a smart-phone and tablet, a matching set in white. The phone was the next model up from what Billie had previously possessed, a quick scroll through the contacts list showed that the only number programmed in there was LaCroix's. A yellow post-it note stuck to the desk next to the tablet caught her attention:

'_Hey, the passcode for the tablet is '7864'. Keep the cash in the drawer...it's yours. I dropped you an email with my address...come on over after you get settled. - Mercurio.'_

Yanking the drawer open she found a black leather wallet, it's only occupants being five crumpled twenties and a fake ID touting her as twenty-four year-old 'Billie Greene'. Dropping it down on the desk she turned away to watch the rain sliding down the cloudy uncovered windows as she wondered what exactly it was LaCroix expected her to do.

Before she did anything though, she was cleaning that apartment – there was no way she'd be able to relax enough to sleep with how filthy it was. The stale stench of rotted food and grease would keep her awake on it's own – especially with how sensitive her nose had become.

Twisting her still dripping hair into a knot on top of her head – wringing as much water out of the sodden strands and into the sink as possible – she began hunting through the cupboards and drawers for anything that could be considered cleaning supplies.

One hour and half a bottle of bleach later the apartment had been scoured clean, the slight chemical burn in her nostrils preferable to the previous odour.

Her arms and lower back aching Billie sprawled at the foot of the shower, the water falling down on her was as hot as the shower allowed and had almost instantly engulfed the room in billowy clouds of steam. Water beaded on the cool surface of the window and mirrow, trickling down like tears. The heat seeped into her skin and almost reached the bone, if she closed her eyes she could almost pretend that she was alive again with reddened skin and a pulse thrumming just beneath it.

Now that she was no longer distracted and running on adrenaline the reality of her existence finally sunk in. Her body seemed to curl in on itself as she shook with violent sobs, the cries that sounded as though they were being ripped from her throat reverberating around the small room.

Alone with just her thoughts, she mourned.

Billie mourned the girl from New York who had only just allowed herself to start healing the mental wounds inflicted by her accident in Paris. The girl who decided to become a therapist, so she could also help heal people like her – people who had been lost, broken, and hopeless. The girl who wanted to honour her fathers memory by pushing forward and fighting for her happiness, even though she could no longer bear to remain in the city that had taken him from her.

That girl was dead and no amount of crying was going to bring her back.

"So, what are you gonna do, Kiddo?" She choked out, her voice thick as she attempted to impersonate her father. "Keep crying, or get outta the damn shower?"

Laughing wetly, Billie pulled herself upright and turned the water off after rinsing her face clean of tears.

She was now a vampire. But just because she could be a monster, didn't mean she wanted to be one, didn't mean she _had_ to be one. And that was what mattered.

Standing there naked, she was surprisingly happy to find that she still had the thick scars running from her left knee up to her waist. Remnants of a silly twenty year-old who had been so excited about the direction of her career she had pirouetted straight into an oncoming car in a narrow cobbled street in Paris. Effectively ending her career in ballet and costing her two years of physical therapy just to be able to move with less than half of the grace she could before.

They were reminders to think before you leap.

Wearing just her damp camisole and panties she began to slot the sheets of wood into place in the windowsills in order to block out the sun come morning. Once she had finished Billie dropped down onto the bed, wincing as the springs squeaked, and toyed with her phone. It was five AM, which meant her mother would have only just gotten up and started to get ready for her day in her small Manhattan apartment.

Taking a steadying breath, she keyed in her mothers number.

"...Hello?"

"Hi Mom!" Billie tried hard to keep her voice light, but it cracked slightly at the end.

"Billie? Honey, it's only eight AM here why are you up so early? Are you alright?" Her mothers voice was anxious.

"Yes Mom, I'm fine," Billie quickly reassured her mother. "I just wanted to talk to you is all."

"At five in the morning?" Her mothers tone showed she wasn't entirely convinced.

Billie laughed, "My neighbours decided to come home from the clubs and go at it for the last hour, so I figured if I'm gonna be awake I may as well take advantage and talk to my most favourite person before she goes to work!"

"Classy," Her mother remarked dryly. "Well then, how's school going?" Her voice took on a sly tone, "How's coffee-shop boy?"

_Crap!_ Billie thought.

"Oh, he's um..." _Ash on a theatre stage floor? No longer a blood-sucking fiend? Gone to Mexico?_ "I haven't actually seen him recently. Guess maybe he decided to take photo's of another girl instead."

"I'm sorry Honey, I know how much you liked him." Her mothers voice was comforting and Billie felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

Smiling, even though she couldn't see her, Billie replied, "Thanks Mom. I'm sure there will be other boys." _Not likely_, she thought to herself. _Not live ones anyway. And it looks like all the dead ones are assholes._

"Of course there will be, Honey! You're amazing, those West Coast boys just don't know a good thing when they see it. Now, I'm going to have to get going or I'm going to be late opening the shop, but it was good to hear from you Billie."

"I love you Mom."

"I love you too, Honey," Came her mothers reply. "Take care of yourself and we'll talk soon. Bye!"

"Bye..." Billie said softly as the line went dead.

Staring at the ceiling, it wasn't until the sky began to lighten into a muted grey that sleep finally took over and she fell into dreamless oblivion.


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry about the long wait - real life got in the way unfortunately. But it's a little bit longer than the others at least! Enjoy **

Chapter Three

When Billie knocked on Mercurio's door this was not what she expected.

"Holy shit!"

The smell of his blood threatened to overwhelm her completely as she rushed over to the man collapsed on the couch, shoes squelching across the blood-soaked rug. Dropping to her knees her hands fluttered uselessly to gesture to him as she asked, "What the Hell happened to you?"

"Those mothers ripped me off...I'm dyin' here!" he managed to force out before letting out a long groan of pain.

_No kidding! _She resisted to urge to yell at the man, the coppery tang in the air beginning to make her light-headed. Before leaving her apartment she'd managed to bring herself to drink one of the plastic bags of blood but she was starting to learn that nothing will satiate the Thirst entirely. Especially when there was a little voice whispering in the back of her mind that this injured man on the couch was prey to her predator.

"You a New Yorker too, huh?" he asked in a thick Brooklyn accent, before coughing a spraying flecks of blood over his mouth, chin, and shirt. "I got...I went..." Groan. "What is this lump? Is this my rib? Oh, Holy shit, my rib is pokin' through my side?!" Another groan. "I'm all numb...you gotta look and tell me!"

Billie glanced down and winced. Amongst the sodden remains of his silk shirt was definitely part of a rib bone as well as what looked like the neck of a beer bottle. Averting his eyes she let out a nervous laugh, "It's nothing – just a scratch. Who did this to you?"

"Goddamn chemist! Can't trust any operators in LA. I verified him, organisation seemed reliable. Guy mixes up speed, his crew sells it. Occasionally does explosives. I set up a drop."

Eyebrows raising at the word 'explosives', Billie nodded, encouraging him to continue. _Just what the Hell did LaCroix want her to do?_

"I show up at the beach with the money, right?" Mercurio continued. "Four of these guys, they come outta nowhere. Junkie pricks – they hit me with a bat! Head feels like a gotta friggin' horse kickin' it. I shoulda never gone alone...amateur move. I shoulda handled those pricks. Goddamn Cali rat bastards!" He paused for a moment to catch his breath, the air gurgling wetly through his chest. "Those cocksuckers – beat me rotten,left me for a stiff. I had to crawl to my car, crawl my ass up here. The vamp blood's the only thing holdin' me together. But, shit, they got the money, they got the Astrolite..."

"Wait..." Billie interrupted. "You said 'vamp blood' is what's keeping you alive? Would more fix you entirely?"

"Yeah..." Mercurio said slowly. "But the only way to get more is to tell the boss I fucked up – and he'd be more likely to finish the job rather than help."

Billie had stopped listening after the first word, bringing her wrist to her mouth and biting down through the cold skin. Seeing what she was doing, Mercurio started shaking his head, "No, no, no! That would piss the boss off even more –"

Thrusting her arm in his face, Billie cut him off as blood thickly welled up from the two punctures to drip slowly around the curve of her arm. "Your room looks like a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting! If it'll fix you – take it!"

His swollen bruised face conflicted, it appeared the pain he was in won out over his fear of LaCroix as his tongue darted out to catch one of the falling drops of blood. Pupils widening to the point that only a thin blue line was visible in his bloodshot eyes his hand gripped Billies arm much harer than she expected him to be able to in his condition. Mercurio's mouth was hot against her skin and his tongue tickled as he dragged it across the punctures in an effort to keep coaxing her blood out.

Before her eyes the swelling in his face began to smooth out and the bruises changed from an ugly purplish-red to a sickly yellow-green and her heightened hearing picked up the sickening crackle of his bones shifting back into place. With a hiss he released her arm to sit up and snap his broken nose back into place and then shifted his shirt aside to push his broken rib back inside before his skin knitted together around it. He removed the broken bottle and raised an eyebrow at her, "Just a scratch, huh?"

"Seemed better than 'oh my god, is that a broken bottle' at the time." She replied, "So what exactly is Astrolite and why do I need it?"

With the scent of blood hanging heavily in the air, Billie couldn't decide which was worse – breathing through her nose or her mouth, completely disregarding the sad truth that she no longer needed to breathe at all.

Mercurio distractedly replied as he continued to inspect his rapidly disappearing wounds, "That Astrolite...twice as powerful as TNT – instant demolition. Be on the other side of the world when you engage that timer. You need to make some place disappear – a warehouse. Looks to be a Sabbat interest."

Pausing, he finally looked up from the damage to his sports-coat that put it beyond saving and took in the blond at his feet.

Bangs falling into her eyes her gaze was fixed intently on the end-table at the other side of the room. Her nostrils flared delicately and her hand gripped the armrest of the of the couch so tightly the skin across her knuckles bordered translucent. She appeared completely unaware that she had bitten her bottom lip hard enough to cause blood to gently well up around one curved fang.

Registering the blood on and surrounding her, Mercurio mentally kicked himself, "Christ! I forgot you were a new one, I'm so sorry doll." Standing, he gently tugged her to her feet and led her through the door on the left side of the room and into a small kitchen and dining room. "You wait here while I clean that mess up."

After rummaging through the kitchen he disappeared into the other room leaving Billie standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Even though the door was closed, she could still smell Mercurio's blood. After a moment she realised that the smell was coming from _her_. The bottoms of her jeans and shoes were damp with blood and her arm had red handprints from feeding Mercurio.

Raising her arm Billies tongue cut a swathe through the bright liquid staining her skin.

Reeling back she was instantly disgusted with herself. _You're sick,_ she berated herself as she strode into the kitchen. _Licking a dying mans blood off of yourself – who the Hell does that?_

She ignored the little voice that whispered in the back of her mind: _monsters do._

Angrily kicking of her shoes she stripped off her jeans and flung them into the sink, turning the faucet so hot water sprayed across her hands. Dropping down she opened the cupboard under the sink and grabbed a scrubbing brush and a bottle of dish detergent. _Well,_ she thought as she poured it over the stained denim and started scrubbing, _at least my pants will be lemony fresh._

* * *

><p>As Billie climbed the swaying metal staircase leading up the side of the cliff from the beach she tried to think of how exactly she was going to get in and out of a house full of violent drug dealers.<p>

The house bordered on dilapidated surrounded by waist high grass and a weathered fence with several broken pickets.

Standing at the foot of the porch-steps a blond guy in a muscle shirt flexed his arms while having a cigarette.

Forcing a bit more bounce into her step Billie tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled flirtatiously as she approached him. His eyes roamed over her body as he smirked at heer, tossing his cigarette aside and crossing his arms across his chest, making a point of flexing his arms as he did so.

Billie didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the pointless show of machismo.

"Can I help you?"

"That depends," Billie twisted a lock of hair around her finger and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Are you Dennis?"

Smirk instantly morphing into a scowl he replied, "Why d'ya wanna see the boss?"

Running her tongue over her bottom lip, his eyes following the movement, she answered, "A friend told me he was the guy to see if I wanted to get some _stuff_," rolling the last word around her mouth as though she was sharing a secret.

"Your friend would be right, if you're good for it," the smirk was back in place as he tilted his head, eyes once again fixated on her body.

"Oh, I'm good for it, tiger," her voice was huskier than usual as she trailed a finger down the centre of his chest then lightly flicked it against his navel. "So can I go inside now, or haven't I made the cut?"

Slightly dazed by her blatant display of flirting he nodded his head towards the house. "Uh, yeah. Take a right through the living-room and knock on the door – he'll be in there."

"Thanks tiger," Billie drawled as she moved around him and up the porch steps.

"Come and see me on your way out?"

His voice held a note of desperation that made her throw back over her shoulder, "If you're lucky," beforing disappearing inside.

Instantly engulfed by the scent of burning chemicals smothered by the sickly sweet smell of weed Billie resisted the urge to cough and kept her sorority girl facade firmly in place as she made her way across the room.

Strung out junkies were strewn across the room. One guy sat in front of the TV, his eyes glazed over as he furiously button-mashed an Xbox controller even though the screen was black. A brunette lolled against the arm of a sagging sofa her kohl smudged eyelids fluttering as she struggled to stay conscious while the guy next to her placed wet kisses across her neck as his hand went up her skirt.

Billie frowned as she heard a voice from the other room loudly complain, "Damn, I messed up one of my rings on that Mercurio guys face! Fucking blood wont come off."

Rapping her knuckles against the scratched wood, the door swung open and she was greeted by an arrogant drawl:

"See? This is what I love about this business – fine ass bitches come to me."

Dennis – Billie presumed – was a stocky African-American with slicked back hair and far too many rings on his fingers, in her opinion. He wore a cheap white suit and the collar of his blue shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a gold chain nestled in dark chest-hair.

"Dennis, right?" Billie asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Oh yeah, baby," His eyes raked over her body. "I got what you want if you got what I need."

Cocking a hip, she smirked at him, "Oh tiger, I'm betting on it. Wanna send your buddies out of the room while we discuss payment?"

Eyes widening at her implication he jerked his head sharply towards the door, "Yo, go check my odometer."

The other men left the room nudging each other and making obscene gestures towards Billie while Dennis grinned widely to reveal very white teeth.

Billie felt a strange fluttering in her belly as the Beast shifted restlessly and she was taken aback by the sudden urge to punch those very white teeth down his throat.

Catching a lock of her hair that fell against her cheek, Dennis let it run through his fingers while he asked her, "Now, what exactly am I mixing up for you tonight?"

Recognising the scent of Mercurio's blood coming from his rings – faint, as though he had tried to rinse them clean – Billie stiffened.

Nostrils flaring she replied flatly, "Astrolite."

Suspicious, Dennis' grip on her hair tightened, "You're the second person to ask for that tonight... Why would a pretty young thing like need astrolite for – hmm?"

The fluttering in her stomach returned accompanied by a red tint at the edges of her vision.

Moving so fast the room around her blurred Billie slammed him against the wall next to the window. One of her legs was wedged between his thighs and her forearm was firm across Dennis' throat while her free hand curved over his mouth, muffling the string of curse words he attempted to scream at him.

Winking, Billie turned her head towards the door and called out in a loud voice, "Oh yeah, baby! Take me hard!"

Turning back to the man she had pinned against the wall, she answered his question with one of her own, "Were you gonna steal my money and beat me to death before or after you fucked me, huh?"

His heart pumped a sharp staccato rhythm against his breast and his body hummed with adrenaline as he struggled against her hold.  
>"Yeah," Billie answered for him, "That's what I thought."<p>

A soft growl slipped between her lips as the tang of fresh blood hit her as Dennis bit his tongue, his lips moving furiously against her palm.

Billie's vision went completely red and her stomach clenched.

Snarling, Dennis' eyes went wide at the sight of her fangs as her nails dug into his shoulder and she yanked yanked his head to one side to reveal his throat. Darting forward her fingers clenched painfully tight in his hair as her fangs sank into his skin and hot blood flooded her mouth. Her moan seemed to vibrate through her entire body as she cheeks hollowed as she sucked hard on the puncture wounds and her tongue lapped rapidly across his skin.

_This how it's gonna be, Kiddo?_ _You gonna be judge, jury, and executioner?_

The sound of her fathers voice was enough to shock her out of her frenzy, her head jerking away from Dennis' neck as her eyes darted around the room. It took her a moment to realise that his voice came from inside her head. Dennis' quiet moan drew Billie's attention back to him as his head lolled drunkenly forward to rest on his chest, her hand pushing against his shoulder the only thing keeping him upright. The collar of his shirt was stained red as blood continued to run from the two puncture wounds. Realising what she had done – what she had almost done – she lowered the now unconscious drug dealer onto the floor.

Raising a trembling hand she bit down hard on her knuckle and tried to think clearly.

Instinct taking over she bent down and ran her tongue over the punctures still oozing blood, cleaning the skin and swirling her tongue around the liquid pooling in the hollow of his neck. When she drew back the wounds had closed up with only some slight bruising to suggest anything had occurred to begin with.

_That's gonna be one Hell of a hickey._

Dennis' sluggish heartbeat aided in calming her down as she accepted that she hadn't killed him and that that was what mattered. As for her fathers voice...well that was something to dwell on when she was no longer in a house full of well-armed drug dealers.

Through Dennis' open jacket the light reflecting off something shiny caught Billies attention. Holding back a snort of laughter, she stilled whispered in disbelief, "seriously?" as she pulled a gold-plated Desert Eagle from his shoulder holster. Making a split-second decision, she ejected the clip to check that it was full, and tucked the gun into the back waistband of her jeans before stripping off his white suit jacket and shrugging into it herself. It dwarfed her small frame, but all she cared about was the fact that it covered the pistol that was slightly digging into her lower back.

Rolling the sleeves back to her elbows she inspected the table running along one side of the room. Assuming that the two bottles strapped together with wiring and a digital-timer was the astrolite she placed it into a brown paper bag she found under the table.

Checking that Dennis was still passed out on the floor, Billied opened the window and slipped outside.

Dropping gracefully into the waist-high grass, she kept low and squeezed through a gap in the fence at the far edge of the property. Waiting until the blond at the door turned away Billie darted towards the access stairs, her surroundings blurring once again. She realised that it was less that the world was blurred and slow, and more that she was moving that fast that they appeared to be. Billie arrived at the conclusion that it must be one of the Discliplines that Jack had told her about, blood abilities shared by her Clan. She just couldn't recall the name of the one that granted enhanced speed.

Remembering the words that had stopped her from killing Dennis back in that room, Billie dug her phone out of her back pocket and dialled 911.

Not letting the operator get a word in, Billie rattled off the address and that it was a gang-affiliated drug-lab before hanging up.

To be perfectly honest she wasn't expecting much to come of it, even though she still hoped that it was enough for the LA Vice squad to look into it. At the very least she hoped that it was enough for her father to not be disappointed in her were he still alive.

Putting her hand in one of the jacket pockets her fingers brushed against something. Pulling it out, Billie grinned down at the thick wad of cash in her hand.

"Oh Mercurio, it really is your lucky night."


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry it's been so long! Towards the end this chapter just didn't want to be written. I'm not 100% happy with it, but meh haha**

**Also, I'm not going to fish or bribe for reviews, but to all of you readers I hope you're enjoying my fic =)**

**Anyways, on with the story.**

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Turns out female vampires were assholes too.

As Billie waded her way through the sewers beneath Santa Monica she was so thankful that she'd taken a trip to the mall and bought some new clothes with that money she had gotten out of the astrolite deal. Because of this her feet and ankles were protected by the knee-high black leather boots she had purchased and her hands were buried in the pockets of her quilted leather jacket. Coming across the gate Therese had mentioned she unlocked it with the key that had been practically thrown at her and eyed the slick rungs of the ladder up to the manhole with distaste.

Wrinkling her nose, she said to herself as she climbed upwards, "Next thing I'm buying is a pair of gloves."

Grumbling as she hauled herself up and out of the manhole she fell silent as she saw what remained of the Ocean House Hotel.

Even just lit up by the floodlights the builders had left on overnight and the few lamps that dotted the outside of the building it was easy for Billie to see the grand structure it would have been before the top few floors of the right-hand side had been set ablaze. After fetching the keys for the front doors Billie approached the large stone steps, jangling the keys nervously in her hand to break up the sudden unnatural silence that had fallen over the property.

The light to the right of the doors burst with a loud pop, shattered glass tinkling against the stone, causing Billie to jump in shock. Letting out a nervous giggle she eyed the blown bulb and slid the key into the lock, pulling her hand back as the door swung slowly inward with a loud creak by itself.

Letting out a nervous giggle she whispered to herself, "I ain't afraid of no ghost," and stepped inside.

It wasn't all that suprising for her to be told that spirits existed. If vampires were real, then why not ghosts? Or werewolves, witches, zombies... the only thing that would actually surprise her was if leprechaun's were real. Because, well, really?

As she stepped into the foyer the door closed behind her with a loud click. _Guess I won't be leaving anytime soon, _she thought as she moved further into the room.

Seeing movement in the corner of her eye, she turned her head to see what appeared to be a male silhouette, holding what looked like an axe of all things, down the far end of the wing light from behind by a flickering light. Taking a step in that direction the light flickered and when it came back the silhouette was gone.

"Creepy," She said to herself as a loud rattling from above caught her attention and she moved to the side just in time to avoid being pinned beneath the falling chandelier.

"Dick move!" She called out to the surrounding darkness, using the same method she would employ when watching scaring movies – use sarcasm and humor to come across as unbothered.

Moving around the fallen chandelier Billie moved over to the coffee table nestled between the curved double staircases leading up to the next floor and looked down at the newspaper that seemed as though deliberately left there. The headline proclaimed the grand opening of the Ocean House Hotel, the print faded against the yellowed paper as the edges curled in on themselves.

Figuring the rooms would be the best place to look for personal items, she began to climb one of the staircases in order to access the rooms on the balconies above. Halfway up the wood beneath her feet gave an ominous groan and Billie quickly found herself laying in a heap on hard stone floor with rotted timber littering herself and the room around her. Rolling to her feet with an annoyed growl she began to brush herself down as she loudly said, "If that's the way you want to play it – fine! You're off the Christmas card list!"

Wandering around the basement, her heels echoing loudly as they clicked against the floor, she took a step back as a panting woman dressed in a blood-stained white dress ran past her, her face a mask of terror as she looked behind her. Leaning out to peer down the way the woman came to see nothing but murky shadows Billie shrugged and strolled down the hallway after the terrified woman that she was ninety-nine percent sure was a ghost. The hallway ended in a door that swung open before Billie even touched the handle and she entered the room to find yet another newspaper that had somehow survived the ravages of time spent in a damp dark room. The headline on this one talked about how a childs severed head was found in one of the dryers in the laundry.

"How cheery," Billie said to herself as she walked out of the room and back the way she came.

The further down the hall she got she began to hear a thumping rattle, as though something was rolling around inside a small metal space, that grew louder as she entered laundry. As she walked up to the dryer the noise was coming from she whispered under her breath, "Please don't be some kid's head, _please_ don't be some kid's head..."

Peering into the dryer as the door opened with a long creak, Billie gave a sigh of relief as she saw a key with a red plastic tag innocently laying on the bottom of the drum. Holding the dryer door open with one hand – because she had definitely seen this movie before – Billie tentatively reached inside with her other hand and snatched up the key, closing the door with a thump that echoed loudly in the darkness. Holding the red tag up to her face she saw the words 'boiler room' scribbled on it in thick black ink.

"Alright," She said to the room, "I can take a hint."

Stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, the key tight in one fist, to hide that they were trembling – though from who she wasn't exactly sure – she moved through the doorway on the opposite side of the room from where she entered. A red glow to her left alerted her to a door hidden in the corner, the bulb above it casting a rosy light on the words 'boiler room' scratched into the dirty white metal. Opening the door she stared down the stairs, the room below seemingly cast in the same red glow as the door. Biting her lip she debated whether or not she was now strong enough to jump high enough to just climb out of the hole that had dumped her down here and high-tail it out of the hotel entirely.

"Do I have to?" Billie addressed the empty hallway, the whining tone of her voice making her wince slightly in shame.

Not wanting to admit it didn't change the fact that she was scared. What made it even more frightening was her body no longer reacted to fear the same way anymore. There was no roar of blood rushing in her ears, just eerie silence. Her heart no longer fluttered against her ribs, her heart-rate so high it made her light-headed. No longer were her hands clammy, sweat prickling between her shoulder-blades as she breathed in short shallow gasps.

Instead Billie acted so indifferent to her situation she appeared almost nonchalant – almost. The only things cracking her facade were the incessant trembling of her hands hidden deep in her pockets and the wideness of her eyes as she attempted to see everything at once. Even though she knew it was ridiculous – that bullets wouldn't do anything except pass through a ghost and probably piss it off – she took comfort in the heavy weight of the Desert Eagle pressing against her side underneath her jacket, snug in the shoulder-holster Mercurio had gifted her.

As she descended the stairs the click of her foot-falls echoing in the small space of the stair-well strangely reassured her as they broke the still silence that had suddenly befallen her.

Entering the boiler room itself a chill went down her spine as a masculine laugh rose around her in borderline hysterics. Through the pipes beneath the large boiler tank to her right she saw the bottom of a black pair of pant-legs and dark shoes.

Dropping to one knee she peered through the gap and and her eyes widened as she saw a pair of blood-soaked hands loosely grasping the handle of a large axe. The blade itself was shiny with blood that fell to the floor with a soft 'drip...drip...' each drop making Billie shiver. His shirt was partially unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled back, splattered with so much red you could hardly tell if it was originally white. All Billie could see of his face was the red light glinting off his teeth, his lips pulled back into a maniacal grin, while his hat was pulled forward over his face casting the rest of his features in shadow.

Flickering, like static on a TV, he disappeared.

Slowly straightening she began to wind her way between the boilers, peeking around every corner half expecting an axe to come hurtling at her head. Reaching the other side of the room she pulled down the lever she assumed started the boilers. A low rumble effused the room that gradually rose in volume. A sharp 'ping' was the only warning Billie received as a rivet burst off the tank closest to her in a plume of steam and embedded itself in the wall next to her head with a puff of stone dust.

Making the world blur around her Billie made her way back to the stairs, weaving around rivets moving through the air as though it were as thick as molasses and expanding clouds of steam.

Skidding to a stop back where she had fallen through the stairs, she heard the loud 'ding' of an arriving elevator and looked towards the sound to see a flickering light on the side of the wall proclaiming 'ELEVATOR'.

"Alright," She said as she entered the elevator and doors closed behind her. "Guess we're going up."

Stepping out of the elevator a soft rattling made Billie leap to the side just as a painting violently flew past her shoulder, the glass shattering as it collided with the balcony railing and landed on the floor. Glass crunching underfoot, Billie bent down to examine the painting as a vase soared over her to smash loudly against the floor below. Turning the painting over she saw a large handprint burned black into the back if the frame, running her fingers over it she pulled back surprised – it was hot.

Soft sobbing reached her ears and Billie looked up through the railing to see the dark-haired woman from the basement standing on the other side of the staircases. Her tangled hair fell into her face as she stared down at the side-table in front of her, pale arms wrapped tight around her blood-soaked middle. She shimmered as Billie got closer, like the air above tarmac on a hot day. Once Billie was within touching distance the woman raised her head, eyes like tear-drenched violets staring beesechingly from a delicately beautiful face, before disappearing.

Another newspaper lay upon the wooden table, the headline on this one calling out that 'another child was found chopped up like firewood'. A shudder ran through Billie as she stared down at the faded print with horror.

"Just what the freaking Hell happened here?" She questioned aloud.

Squeaking from behind her caught her attention and she spun, her hair whipping through the air, one hand instinctively going towards the gun at her side before relaxing when all she saw was a wooden train rolling across the floor of the balcony out of one of the rooms.

"Good thing I can't have heart-attacks anymore, huh?" She said as she walked into the room, "Otherwise Therese would have to deal with another damn ghost...bitch."

In the middle of the floor were a scattering of a childs drawings as well as a tin of coloured pencils. Kneeling next to them, Billie wasn't surprised by the top yellowed drawing depicting a family of mom, dad, and two children with linked hands, but the demonic portrayal of the father complete with an aura of flames made her raise her eyebrows. Something glinting in the tin of coloured pencils caught her eye, and she sifted through them to find a slightly tarnished key.

As soon as she pocketed it the lights shut off with a loud pop, plunging her into darkness momentarily, before the bedside lamps cast the room in a gold glow and revealed the writing scratched deep into the wall above the bed:

GET OUT.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Billie muttered as she raced back out onto the balcony, the doors slamming shut behind her.

Back across the room where she had come out of the elevator Billie was the blood-soaked woman staring at her while stretching one hand towards the door next to her.

"Okay, I'm coming."

This time the woman disappeared once Billie walked past the room just before the one she indicated Billie needed to enter. Turning the handle only to find it locked, Billie chanced using the key she had picked up from the previous room and snorted softly when the door swung open.

"Good thing I played all those video-games as a kid, huh?" She told the room as she entered before letting out a shriek as she fell through the floor and landed on her back on top of a bar.

Groaning, Billie sat up dangling her legs over the side as she rubbed the back of her head looking down as her hand crunched down on something as she used it to steady herself.

It was yet another newspaper, this one speculating that maybe the arson occurring all those years ago at the hotel was actually a suicide on the part of the murderer.

"No kidding," Billie said with a roll of her eyes.

After searching the room that was once upon a time the hotels bar, Billie was no longer amused when she realised that the dumb-waiter was the only way out.

Working herself up she shoulder-charged the boarded up double-doors that led back out into the lobby achieving nothing except a patch of dust stubbornly clinging to her jacket and leaving her to assume that the wood was in fact reinforced steel.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Billie repeated frantically as she eyed up the small space she was expected to squeeze into. Resigning herself she crawled inside, hugging her knees to her chest as the ridiculously small box shuddered and began to descend. Rocking slightly she discovered that it was indeed possible for vampires to have full-blown panic-attacks.

When a small ding signalled her arrival at the floor below she burst forth from the tiny box of doom only to run into a counter, catching her stomach on the corner and falling decidedly ungracefully to the floor.

"Oof!" She exclaimed as something landed on her chest.  
>Sitting up she found a small worn red velvet book had dropped down onto her. Skimming through the words written in elegant cursive she felt her stomach twist as the suspicions she had surrounding the ghosts in the hotel were proven correct. The diary told the chilling story of a husband driven mad by jealousy to the point of murdering his entire family. How he hunted them down through the hotel and slaughtered them like animals.<p>

"_Help me..._"

The soft voice whispered through the room and Billie concluded that the reason the spirits were still in the hotel was because the husband wouldn't allow them to move on. Instead they were forever trapped, reliving their murders over and over again.

"You sick son of a bitch!" Billie screamed at the empty kitchen, anger growing inside of her causing the Beast in her belly to twitch.

Anger.

That's what got her through the air-vents. That's what made her move fast enough when the husband tried to drop an elevator on her once she exited the vents into an empty elevator shaft. It's what made her balance in high-heels on a thin ledge as she shuffled towards the open elevator doors and what made her dodge every single painting and vase he threw at her.

Billie knew she was getting close once black flames began to lick at the walls, billowing across the ceiling, warming her cold skin with their impossible heat.

As she prowled down hallways she began to laugh, "You can throw paintings at me, you can throw cutlery at me, you can try to drop a goddamn elevator on me! But you can bet I'm gonna leave you here all alone you bastard!"

When the first pipe burst she wasn't quick enough to dodge it entirely, the steam leaving the skin of her cheek pink and shiny, the heat effusing her flesh a mere annoyance in the face of her anger as she flowed around the remaining burst pipes like water.

"You were supposed to protect them! They trusted you! They _loved_ you!" Billie shouted as she reached the end of the hallway and the door to her right creaked ajar.

Pushing open the door Billie entered the remains of what would have once been a beautiful suite but was now nothing more than charred remains. The entire far side of the room was gone as was the ceiling and walls, leaving it to the mercy of the storm that had brewed while she had been running around the hotel. Wind twisted her hair about her face and rain battered against her, running down her face like tears as the water dripped off her chin and onto her jacket. All she could smell was salt and smoke and ozone.

Stepping closer to the edge of the floor, Billie jumped as golden light flooded the room.

Looking around, Billie found the suite restored to it's original glory. The carpet was thick, muffling her footsteps as she reeled backwards, the heavy brocade curtains pulled open on every one of the large windows lining two of the walls of the room. Inspecting her skin, she was shocked to find that she wasn't burning – there was no pain at all. In fact, the sunlight filled her with a comforting warmth much like sinking into a hot bath.

Approaching one of the windows she turned her face into a beam of light, closing her eyes and pretending she was alive again.

Billie was unsure of how long she stood there, it could have been minutes it could have been hours, but eventually she stepped away from the window and turned to the far side of the room where she could see something glittering on a table in a shaft of light. Unashamed of the tears staining her cheeks, she gazed down at the beautiful silver locket that had trapped a poor woman in Hell.

"Thank you," Billie whispered in a thick voice as she picked up the necklace and placed carefully tucked it into her jacket pocket.

The illusion shattered as soon as her skin came in contact with the locket and the sunlight was cruelly replaced by darkness and drizzle as the supernaturally enhanced storm eased off.

The first streaks of pink were painting the sky when Billie let herself into her apartment after wading through the sewers. As she collapsed on her bed she gazed longingly at the bordered up windows and fell asleep to the soft whisperings emanating from the locket gripped tightly in her hand.


End file.
